A Summer's Tale
by Wordie
Summary: In which the events of Frozen are influenced more closely by the original Snow Queen tale. Anna spends more time, for better or for worse, in Kristoff's company before encountering her sister. She's never had an actual friend before; he's never particularly needed one. Maybe this could be the start of something. But first? She has to save his life ... COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**QUICK NOTES**

**Regarding dialogue: the characters' use of language, here, is in keeping with that of the movie, which is to say that it's pretty much modern in spite of the time frame**

**Also, I'm not a new writer but I am a new user of … this site. Or any site. I've never published before, so apologies for any technical snafus. I'll learn.**

**Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The summer days should have been long—exceedingly long—but this false season made it nearly impossible to measure time. As a little girl, Anna and her family had had to simulate night, during the warmer months, with dark curtains and heavy shutters. She'd learned that this was not the case at lower latitudes, but as she'd never known any different, the extreme divergence of light between summer and winter didn't really bother her. Now, on the other hand, the sky was almost uniformly grey for hours, until a slender line of pink slipped between the mountains and the clouds and an abbreviated darkness lay cold upon the world.

At least here, in this narrow shed somewhere on the flanks of the North Mountain, she was warm. She shared the space with a slightly over-affectionate reindeer and a rangy outdoorsman whose history was not entirely clear to her. The latter was temperamental, disinclined to make conversation, and forthright to the point of rudeness. Not that her sensibilities were all that delicate—it's just that she wasn't used to such plainspoken behavior. After all, she'd spent the majority of her existence up until this point alone in an echoing old castle, with only a small domestic crew to keep her company.

She knew her predicament was rather absurd: in a lovely castle surrounded by lovely people, she felt a gnawing loneliness that—try as she might—she could not shake off. And while some members of the staff were like family to her (namely, Gerda and Kai), there was no one her age with whom she could bond. Unless you counted her sister, which Anna did not. It was for this reason, in fact, that she had never in her life had an actual friend before.

Not that she'd call Kristoff a _friend_. At the moment, she could appreciate how he tried to restrain his limbs for her in their tight little niche. And he _had_ spent the better part of three days guiding her through treacherous mountain terrain, though he certainly had _something_ to gain from finding Elsa and putting an end to this extraordinary winter. He'd even taken her on a short detour to consult the trolls, who were wise in such matters. But the case remained that he was rather too … unfriendly. He taunted her for having engaged herself to Prince Hans in the time it took most people to plan a meal. And, regardless of the fact that they had a common goal, he didn't even try to hide his lack of enthusiasm for her company.

Anna stared at him over the flickering lantern light, partly because she was curious and partly because she knew it made him uncomfortable. He'd propped himself up in the corner and wrapped his arms around his knees. It looked terribly discommodious.

Next to him, Sven sprawled out and snored heartily.

"So," Anna ventured. "You were raised by trolls …"

"Mmm-hm."

She waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. Of course. "Didn't you have parents?" she asked.

"I assume so."

"What happened to them?"

He shrugged. "I don't remember."

Anna considered this. Would it be better to have never known your parents at all than to have felt their love and then lost it—and them—all at once? She wasn't sure. Looking at Kristoff, she was left feeling cross and perplexed. He was inscrutable.

"They seem very nice," she persisted. "Your ... family."

Kristoff shrugged again. This was apparently obvious to him and did not require a response. Still, she could tell that he'd been nervous to introduce her to them. They could be a little "inappropriate," he'd said beforehand, and they certainly let loose with their own … _preposterous_ ... assumptions. But she'd been both heartened and amused by their pride in him. She had never witnessed such extravagance of feeling before. Not in her family. Ever.

"Do you think Pabbie's right?" she wondered aloud. "That fear can distort my sister's ... um ... powers?"

Kristoff's eyes glittered darkly in the scant glow of the lantern. He was staring, mesmerized by the flame in that way that happens when a person feels agreeably tired.

"Yeah," he said simply. "Pabbie's always right."

They were silent for a moment. Then Kristoff slouched further down the wall and sighed. "It'll be OK, Anna."

She wasn't convinced, but it was nice of him to say so. He had gotten a little more sociable—a little warmer, one might say—over the last few days, once he'd recovered a bit from the shock of human companionship. Sven, of course, had taken to Anna immediately. They made for an odd little alliance, these three, and that wasn't even including the live snowman that ran a constant narrative—even now—from the darkness outside.

Anna fidgeted. Then she risked another question.

"Can I say something crazy?"

Kristoff dragged his gaze from the lantern. "I don't want to marry you," he said archly. Then he smirked.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Can you please just ... _stop_ with that?"

"No."

"It's not important."

"All right."

She sighed. "Do you want Elsa to bring summer back or not?"

"Yes. OK."

"Because—supply and demand, right?"

He held up his hands. "Fine, Anna. Just … what's crazy?"

"Well—" She took a deep breath. "What if she _can't_ bring the sun back? What if things are, I don't know, _stuck_ like this? Forever? How can Elsa _not_ be afraid of her powers?"

Kristoff didn't say anything right away, and when he did his words were blunt and comfortless.

"We can't afford to think like that."

In other words, they _had_ to find Elsa and they _had_ to restore summer. Because, otherwise, farmers couldn't grow food for sustenance, and their stock would eventually freeze or starve. The frozen harbor would damage both trade and industry—not to mention the livelihoods of people like Kristoff. And the villagers and settlers and migrant tradesmen of the fjords would slowly, slowly capitulate to the cold.

If they failed to save summer, Arendelle would die.


	2. Chapter 2

**QUICK NOTES**

**So, you'll have noticed that this story picks up after Anna's first meeting of Kristoff. Everything up until that point is consistent with the movie, except I've chosen for more time to have passed between Elsa's flight and Anna's pursuit. From here on out, I do a little wink-wink at the film—but I've gone and taken it in my own direction.**

**Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

They'd first met Olaf in the forests surrounding Oaken's trading post. It had been a relatively uneventful morning, all things considered: Kristoff woke just before dawn, shook Sven awake, and made just enough unnecessary noise to rouse Anna from the most fathomless slumber she'd ever experienced. She had never slept on a bed of straw before, never sheltered for the night in a scrubby outbuilding, never shared a sleeping space with an animal—never shared a sleeping space with a _human_, for that matter, not to mention one that was large, male, and vaguely musky. It was the best night's sleep she'd ever had.

The existence of Olaf, though, had shaken her far more profoundly than she'd cared to admit. Of course, she didn't want to hurt his feelings—he seemed so eager for company, so hopeful for friendship. But he was alive, a waddling, warbling, triplicate body of snow. And Elsa had _made_ him this way. His life, his consciousness, had flowed from _Elsa's_ _hands_. Her separateness seemed so much more acute, now. She wasn't just dissimilar from Anna; she was otherworldly, unknowable, arcane.

How do you bring someone back from that? How do you sit down with them for breakfast and share a plate of buttered eggs and toast?

Kristoff had looked at her askance, then, and casually suggested that they visit the trolls. Which they did, with Olaf in tow. It had taken them a day's journey off course from the North Mountain, moving them laterally through the trees and traversing—rather than ascending—the foothills of the Arendelle range. There, they'd sought the wisdom of Pabbie, a sort of grand-paternal cornerstone of Kristoff's foster family. He'd listened to them gravelly, but the only advice he could offer had left them with more questions than answers:

_Only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart._

How could anyone know Elsa well enough to unfreeze her heart?

Anna reflected on all of this as they made their way up the mountain. She could see a roiling mass of clouds obscuring the peak above them. It seemed threatening, though it neither moved nor increased in size but rather coiled itself around the summit like an ominous serpent. She shuddered.

"Are you cold?" Kristoff asked suddenly. He hadn't said much since leaving their small shelter from the night before. Probably thinking about his ice business, she thought dully. Or maybe he was lulled into a stupor from listening to Olaf's exuberant chronology of all the things he loved.

"What?" she asked. "No. Well, a little."

He handed her Sven's reins.

"Hang on," he said, then leaned back over the bench of the sleigh and started to rummage through their provisions. The trolls had supplied them with all sorts of useful—and rather less-than-useful—materials for surviving the elements. Kristoff briefly held up a decorative condiment bowl before tossing it aside.

Anna sat stiffly on the bench.

"Is this really a good idea?" she called back. "I've never driven a sled before. Or anything. I've never driven ... anything ... before."

Kristoff snorted, but not unkindly. "You're not driving; _he_ is," he said mildly, pointing at Sven. "And don't worry. He knows what he's doing."

"I'm not worried."

"OK."

"I'm _not_," she insisted, then sighed with an odd sense of contentment. "This is fun!" She lifted her face to the current of chill wind streaming past her cheeks.

Olaf sat up from his place on the bed of the sleigh and contributed the following bit of wisdom: "I love fun!"

"Just be careful," said Kristoff, ignoring the snowman and nodding at Sven. "He likes to go fast."

Anna stretched her arms behind her head and leaned back against the bench. "I like fast," she rejoined casually. She propped her feet up on the lip of the sled. Seeing this, Kristoff turned and hurriedly dumped a wool blanket in her lap. Then he seized the reins and brushed her feet away with a scowl of disapproval.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Put your feet down! This is fresh lacquer. Seriously, were you raised in a barn?"

"No, I was raised in a castle."

Kristoff looked unimpressed. He busied himself with polishing off any scuffmarks her feet had made—_nonexistent_ as far as she could see—using his sleeve and a liberal application of his own spit. Then he seemed to remember himself and stopped abruptly.

"Sorry," he mumbled. He retrieved the blanket and draped it awkwardly over Anna's shoulders. "Better?" he asked, without looking at her.

"Yes," she replied, feeling chastened and a little embarrassed. "Thank you."

Around them, the landscape started to change. Aspen groves fell away to stands of fragrant pine and spruce. The forests began to thin out, subtly at first and then more visibly as they crossed into higher elevations. Snowdrifts obscured the less predictable contours of the mountainside, and Sven had to proceed more carefully. Above them, the dull sky ripened into a battered shade of purple.

"It's getting late," observed Kristoff.

"Can't we keep going? We're so close ..."

He shook his head. "False summit," he explained. "There's no way we'll make it before nightfall, and it's too dangerous to go on in the dark."

"You've got the lantern," persisted Anna.

Kristoff laughed. "There's a place we can stay ahead, just under timberline. This light won't be any use to us if we fall into a crevasse—"

Before them, Sven's ears perked intently. Kristoff fell quiet, then added in a low voice, "—or worse."

Anna drew the blanket tighter around herself. "What do you mean?"

Kristoff didn't respond because, at that moment, the thin air was cut through with an eerie, keening howl.

Anna felt the breath abandon her in a rush of dismay. "What are they?"

"Wolves."

"Wolves?"

He nodded grimly. "I got this," he said, goading Sven to move faster. "Just don't fall off and get eaten."

Sven surged forward as a distant chorus of wolf cries answered the call of the first. Olaf clung to the back of the bench with his spindly fingers. If Anna had been less frightened, she might have pointed out that the situation seemed far more critical than her companion was letting on. Instead she, too, gripped the bench and lowered her head against the driving wind.

Darkness descended swiftly, and this seemed to encourage the animals in their pursuit. Anna thought she saw restless shapes loping with dreadful agility through the woods. She turned to warn Kristoff.

"I see them," he said shortly. Then, once again, he handed her the reins and twisted around to the back of the sled. An unexpected collision with some object beneath the snow nearly sent him flying.

"What are you doing?" cried Anna.

He wrenched at a pile of kindling wrapped in canvas. "Just drive!"

"I thought you said _Sven_ does the driving!"

Kristoff grabbed the lantern and swung it behind them, plunging Anna and their path ahead into obscurity. She narrowed her eyes in an effort to steer.

"Not now, Anna—"

"I want to help!"

"No."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because," he said tightly, "I don't trust your judgment."

Anna was affronted in spite of herself. "Excuse me?"

Suddenly a light flared up in his hands and he lifted a torch of dry kindling to illuminate the woods around them. With a cry of surprise, he brought it down, hard, against the muzzle of an encroaching beast. It yelped and fell back in the snow. Then he returned his attention to Anna.

"Who marries a man she just met?" he growled.

Anna ducked her head as he moved against the rest of the pack, vaguely aware of the snowman admonishing him to watch out for his ligneous arms. She chose to ignore their dispute for the time being.

"How much farther?" she cried.

Kristoff kicked at a particularly tenacious animal. "Just ahead!"

She peered into the night until she could just make it out, a slightly darker shape imposed on the shadowed landscape before them. It was a coarse, weather-beaten structure built of solid stone and mortar, sturdy and windowless and the most welcome sight she ever laid eyes on. The last of the trees dropped away and the wolves, at last, abandoned their hunt. Singed and defeated, they slunk off into the wilderness, their eyes glowing wickedly in the dark.

For a moment, the only sounds were those of the sled runners skimming through powder and a susurration of wind through the pines.

Olaf broke the stillness. "Well _that_ was exciting!" he declared. Then he giggled.

Kristoff stared at him, breathing heavily, a flaring torch in one hand and an extinguished lantern in the other. Then he collapsed onto the bench next to Anna.

Later, when they'd unloaded the packs and food and tinder and sat idly passing the time around a squat, cast-iron stove, he showed her how to tie some of the various indestructible knots used by the men of Arendelle's mountain country. Curious—and encouraged by his immersion in the task at hand—she asked him about the system of huts and shelters that existed along the coastal glaciers of the kingdom.

"They're used and maintained by people like me," he said lightly. "Hunters and ice harvesters and other wandering tradesmen. Though most don't come around in the winter."

Anna nodded, feeling both ignorant of and impressed by the lives of these mountain people. It was a culture that existed just outside the gates of her city, and yet she'd never really known much of its existence. She was about to say as much when Kristoff reached out to correct the warp in her piece of rope.

"Under, not over. See?"

He seemed a lot more comfortable talking about these things—the tactile skill required of a person who lives according to their most basic needs and the use of sound judgment rather than that of wit and cunning and scholarship.

He shook his head forbearingly when she made yet another mistake.

"What did they _teach_ you in that castle?"

Anna shrugged. "Literature and diplomacy and … needlepoint."

Kristoff blinked at her. "What use is _that_?"

She was surprised by the fact that his tone did not offend her. "Not much at all, I suppose," she said, smiling sheepishly. "Though I guess it makes sense for a potential queen to know about trade economics and ... stuff."

"Isn't that your sister's job?"

"Well, yes," she allowed. "But then, if something should happen to her …"

She stopped abruptly. Up until this moment, she had stoutly refused to entertain the idea that Elsa might—for one reason or another—fail to execute her duties as queen. Now it felt as though someone had grasped hold of her throat and was applying relentless pressure there. Kristoff studied her carefully and changed the subject.

"Most people come up to the mountains to be alone, you know," he offered. "Maybe she'd had enough with the needlepoint."

He was trying to ease her mood in his own clumsy way—Anna knew this. But she wasn't feeling particularly charitable, at the moment, and so she merely hugged her knees tighter and glared at the open grate to the stove.

"No one wants to be alone," she bristled. "Except for maybe _you_."

He didn't say anything. She could tell that her words had stung, though, because he stopped fiddling with the loose knot she'd tied in her rope and simply placed it on the floor between them.

"Here," he said quietly. "I fixed it for you." Then he went to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**QUICK NOTES**

**Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Morning broke in the same way that it had every day since Elsa froze the world: bleak and cold and cruel. Pristine snow and crystalized tree limbs were not without beauty, of course. And another gust of snowfall had blown through in the night, filling even _their_ frenzied tracks with airy particles of white. Any irregularities were leveled against the slope so that the topography of Arendelle appeared smooth and unblemished for as far as the eye could see.

But this strange winter was still as cruel as it was beautiful, because all the fragile creatures of these fjordlands were threatened by the unexpected and extreme change in climate. Those birds who were less suited to Arendelle's hard winters had returned, unsuspecting, with the warmer currents of spring. Now they cowered in their nests or fluttered in desperate circles, unable to determine where they belonged or how to navigate their way. Newborns of every species, naked and trembling, bleated against the frost while their mothers struggled to keep them alive.

Anna, for her part, rose before the others and began at once the long process of layering against the cold. She had to throw her weight hard against the door in order to force it open through the snow. When she finally succeeded in doing this, the frigid air snatched her breath away and she staggered for a moment, bracing herself against the wall until her lungs could remember how to function.

From here she could follow with her eyes the ridge that would lead them past broad planes of white to the peak of the North Mountain. Kristoff had said they would reach it late that day, and she felt a thrill of apprehension. Elsa was up there, somewhere. Anna would find her and bring her home, and together they would figure out how to end this winter.

It did not occur to her that Elsa might refuse.

She saw no sign of Olaf, but this did not concern her. He was in his element, here, his strange affinity for summer notwithstanding. He would turn up.

She retreated into the warmth of the shelter and set about collecting their supplies, stepping delicately around Kristoff and the reindeer so as not to wake them. She felt rather ashamed of the way she'd snapped at him the night before. After all, he'd spent all that time trying to teach her a useful skill and gently correcting her whenever she got it wrong—which was pretty much every time. He'd showed a degree of patience and kindliness that she had not witnessed in him before—as though he was as much in his element, here, as Olaf was on the snowy flanks of the mountain. As though, in fact, this was his true state of being and all his churlishness of before was part of some fight or flight reflex. It occurred to her, then, that they were perhaps not so different from each other as at first it would seem. If she was inclined to assert herself foolishly in unfamiliar circumstances—and he was inclined to turn prickly and withdraw—they were both defined by the same predicament: they were both very much alone.

Now he startled awake as though he sensed her analyzing him and wanted to put an end to it before she discovered anything significant. He stared blearily for a moment, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and gave Sven an affectionate shove. Soon they were on their way again, setting out on the final leg of their journey up the mountain.

Anna was feeling uncharacteristically quiet. Perhaps it was because she was cold or because she was strung-out and tired. Perhaps it was because she was nervous about confronting her sister, but whatever the cause, she couldn't seem to ease the trembling in her heart.

Kristoff slouched on the bench next to her, apparently deep in thought. He seemed neither hurt nor dispirited by Anna's mood, but he also didn't seem particularly interested in conversation. Anna fretted two loose ends of rope as Sven drew them ever higher along the tree line. Finally, Kristoff glanced over and shook his head. He dropped the reins with care into his lap, peeled off his mittens, and took the two ends of rope in his fingers.

"You've gotta wind it around your hand so that the join is by your finger tips," he said, demonstrating slowly. "Go around one more time … like this. Then fold the join back and up under the other bits of rope. When you push the knot off your hand and tighten … it looks like a butterfly."

He held it aloft for her to see and handed it back. "Try again," he suggested, then wavered. "I mean, if you want to. You don't have to. It's just … you almost had it."

Flustered, he picked up the reins again.

Anna glanced at him, suddenly shy. "Thanks."

He shrugged, trying to ignore the air of discomfort that had, unexpectedly, fallen upon them. "It's a really good one to know up here," he said matter-of-factly. And completely unnecessarily. "In case you have to tie two lengths together …"

Anna fixed her attention on the knot once again while, ahead of them, Sven snorted briskly. At last, she began to allow the repetitive motion of the sleigh to soothe her ragged nerves. Until Kristoff ruined it.

"So," he ventured. "How exactly are you planning to stop this weather?"

Anna relaxed her fingers and pulled her mittens back on. "Oh, _I_ am gonna _talk_ to _my sister_."

Kristoff waited.

"That's your plan?

"Yup."

She was peripherally aware of him shifting on the seat next to her. He glanced at her warily.

"Don't you think we should, I don't know, talk this over first?"

"Why?"

"How do you know Elsa even wants to see you?"

"What are you talking about? She's my sister," she shot back. "And anyway, you want to bring this up _now_?"

"We're still half a day's ride from the final pitch—I thought we'd have more time," he said defensively. "And that's not the point. Elsa came up here for a reason …"

"She was scared. I can talk to her—she doesn't have to do this."

"I'm just saying. Maybe we should think it through."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Anna, you could get hurt—"

For the second time in as many weeks, Anna found herself standing up for her sister.

"That would never happen," she said coolly.

They fell back into an uneasy silence. She knew Kristoff had more to say on the subject. He was tense, clearly lost in his own dark thoughts, though he made no more attempt at arguing the point. She wondered if he would conclude that the venture was not worth the risk. After all, he still had his sled and he still had Sven. He could get by.

Olaf materialized some time before midday. They heard him prattling to himself long before they could locate the bright orange carrot that distinguished his odd little body from the rest of the snow. His eyes brightened when he saw them.

"Hey!" he cried happily. "There you are."

Kristoff pulled up on the reins and they stopped.

"Where've _you_ been?"

"Me?" Olaf ducked his nose away from Sven and chortled good-naturedly. "Just scouting around. Not sure if this is going to solve the problem, but I think I've found exactly who you're looking for."

Anna straightened up and riveted him with her eyes. "_What_?!"

She felt her pulse accelerate almost painfully. Who else could it be? Who else would be wandering these mountains alone, in this ruthless weather? Who else could it be but the snow queen herself?

"Elsa?" asked Kristoff softly, his voice impossible to interpret.

Olaf nodded. "Yup!"

"Do you think you can show us the way?"

"Yup!"

Without waiting for permission, Anna grabbed Olaf by his thready fingers and sent Sven into a canter. She could hear Kristoff protesting furiously by her side.

"_What are you doing_?"

She ignored him.

"_Anna, stop_!" He reached across her for the reins. Between them, Olaf whooped and cheered and hollered out directions. Trees whipped past in a blur.

"No!" she cried, fending off his mittens. They continued on this way for quite some time before Olaf clapped his twigs together and called out excitedly.

"_Here_!"

Impulsively, Anna yanked on the reins. Sven reared. His head came back and the sled pitched to one side. Anna fell hard against Kristoff, who wrenched at her hands and brought them to a stop.

They sat there without speaking, breathing heavily. Then Kristoff stumbled off into the snow and turned to glare at her.

"_You_ don't tell him what to do," he growled, putting his arm around the reindeer. "_I_ do!"

Anna nodded, chastened. "I'm sorry."

He looked at her for a moment, and then his eyes relented. "It's all right," he muttered. He dug a carrot out of his pocket and handed it to Sven.

It took a moment for them to realize that they were not alone.

Anna glimpsed a flicker of movement through the trees. Stepping cautiously, she drew up and parted the limbs of two adjacent pines.

Elsa was there, clothed in a gown of some peculiar, diaphanous thread. She was facing away, her hands held close around a tiny fractal of light. Her hair was undone, as though she had forsaken all restraint.

Her appearance was striking. Feral. And … beautiful.

But at the sound of Anna's approach, she turned, registered her sister's presence with a look of pure, undisciplined fear, and backed away. Anna called out to her.

"Elsa, wait!"

There was a moment's pause in which the sisters regarded each other over a swath of frozen white. Elsa stood upon it as though weightless, her feet barely dipping into the powder. To Anna, it nearly reached her knees.

"You look different," she said. Elsa watched her, hesitant, unmoving.

"I'm so sorry about what happened," Anna continued, finding herself unable to hold back. "If I'd have known—"

"You don't have to apologize," said Elsa quietly.

Anna clutched her hands together. "We were so close. But I _understand_, now. We can be like that again—"

"No," Elsa insisted. "We can't."

Her eyes flitted behind Anna, took in her companions.

"That's Kristoff," Anna said hurriedly. "He stopped me from freezing to death and, well, getting eaten by wolves ..."

Kristoff waved a mitten uncomfortably. He looked as though he'd prefer to be anywhere else but along this ridge, with these women who were attempting to resolve two decades worth of family grief along the spine of an unnaturally frozen mountain peak. Sven gave him an empathetic nudge.

Elsa blinked. "You should go," she said. "You're not safe."

"But I just got here!"

"You belong in Arendelle."

"So do you!"

Elsa clenched her fists. "Anna, I'm just trying to protect you!"

"You don't have to protect me. I can take care of myself!"

Beside her, Kristoff raised an eyebrow. Anna glowered at him.

"Sorry!" he said quickly, tugging his hat all the way down his ears. "Sorry. It just ... does that ... sometimes. I don't ..." He looked at her. "Sorry."

Anna wasn't really listening. She turned back to her sister.

"I'm not afraid."

Elsa stepped back.

"Goodbye, Anna."

"No!" she cried. "Please don't shut me out again!" She reached out as though to grasp Elsa's hand, but her sister panicked.

"Leave me alone!"

She flung out an arm emphatically, and for an instant it seemed as though the force of her magic would strike Anna a killing blow. But Kristoff pushed her down, sent her sprawling in the snow, and the sharp fragment of ice pierced him straight to the heart.

Anna cried out and scrambled to his side, but he merely staggered and brought a hand to his chest.

"Are you all right?" she demanded, searching his clothes and then his eyes for any signs of injury.

He nodded, dropping his hands to his sides as though to prove he was unharmed. "I'm fine," he said, his voice gently neutral. Anna frowned.

Standing apart from them all, her gaze etched in horror, Elsa wrapped her arms around her body. The air about them seemed to crack with frigid tension, like a frozen body of water that was expanding beyond its constraints. She was ravaged by fear for what she had done; her hands began to tremble.

"_Oh no_," she whispered.

The others didn't hear her, but they didn't have to. Because at that moment something truly horrible happened.

It started with an eddy of cold air, a spindrift of snow particles curling up into the ripening sky. It grew in force, whirling aggressively until a huge shape took form. Two pale points of light glowed from deep within the maelstrom, resolving themselves at last into eyes that stared out from the face of an impossible, abominable creature.

A giant, grotesque snowman.

Anna and Kristoff, taken by a sort of disbelieving paralyses, simply gaped up at the thing. Elsa buried her face in her hands.

Sven lowed piteously, backing up against the sled and finding that, tethered as he was to it, he had nowhere to go. Kristoff lunged forward and sliced through the reins with his knife. Then he grabbed a satchel and a coil of rope and called out to the others.

"Come on!"

The snow creature roared and took a lumbering step forward. Anna stared at it, unmoving, until Kristoff hoisted her out of the snow and dragged her away. Olaf, meanwhile, waved his scraggly arms and gamboled around the monster's feet. "I'll distract him. You guys go!"

Anna floundered. It was too deep, and she found herself breaking through heavy surface snow into the lighter stuff beneath, which made running immensely difficult. Fortunately, the giant was slow and stupid enough that it became clear they could outmaneuver it as long as they gained some distance. Anna stumbled along in the trail broken by Kristoff and Sven until the creature was lost in the trees behind them. They were not yet safe, however: she could hear it snapping pine trunks at the base and tossing them aside as it pursued them.

Suddenly, Kristoff grasped at the reindeer's broken bridle and brought them to a blundering halt.

"What are you doing?" gasped Anna. "That thing is still after us!"

Her words were punctuated by the sudden crash of a spruce tree from above.

Kristoff shushed her. "Wait," he said quietly. He angled his head as though listening and studied the ridgeline above them. The giant thundered closer.

"_Kristoff_!"

He ignored her. "It's going to slide," he said softly, almost to himself. Then he turned to her. "Do you hear that?"

"I hear a colossal snow brute determined to trample the life out of us!"

"No, listen," he breathed, wincing as though the effort was unexpectedly painful. And then she heard it, a muted _whumpfing_ sound just upslope from where they stood. Anna shifted her feet nervously.

"Don't move," murmured Kristoff. He pointed at a scattering of exposed rocks. "The snowpack's thin, here."

"What does that mean?"

"The snow's collapsing."

Olaf's voice filtered down through the trees. "This is not making much difference, is it?" Anna looked wildly at Kristoff, who shoved their one remaining pack into her arms. Then he draped the coil of rope over and across her shoulder.

"Why are you giving me this?"

"Sven won't be able to carry the two of us," he explained.

"_What_?!"

"Anna," he said decisively. He gestured at the snow beneath their feet. "This slab is going to go as soon as Marshmallow there catches up. There's a 200-foot chasm below us, and Sven can't outrun a slide _and_ get to the other side with both of us on his back.

"What about you?"

"I'll meet you at the North Mountain."

"Are you crazy? _No_!"

Kristoff shook his head. "No offense, Anna, but I have a better chance of surviving this thing than you do." And without warning, he hauled her up and tossed her on the back of the reindeer. Then he slapped him hard on his flank. "_Run, Sven_!"

The reindeer surged forward and then stopped, looking back at his companion. He grunted and frisked defiantly, pawing at the snow. But Kristoff would have none of it.

"Stop it, Sven!" he demanded, unconsciously clutching a mitten to his chest. "I know what to do—just get out of here."

With a sickening, hollow sound, the snow beneath them made an incremental shift along the slope's declivity. Behind them, the giant snowman let loose a resounding bellow, and in an instant, the ridge was lost in chaos. Sven instinctively sprang into action, vaulting down and to the side of the buckling slabs, barely reaching the adjacent flank of sluff before the ground was taken completely from beneath his feet. He kept going, careering madly down the mountain. Anna clung desperately to his neck, unable to see anything beyond a cloud of luminous white or hear anything outside of a turbulent roar. Then, for one breathless moment, she felt Sven gather the strength in his hindquarters. She sensed the pitch of his momentum and found herself weightless, suspended in tumult as the world fell away, then jolting to a stop with concussive force.

Sven whirled violently around to face the chasm they'd only just managed to cross. Anna could see the avalanche running itself out over the opposite edge, its power withdrawn. They stared until clouds of spun snow dispersed into the monochrome sky. Then the reindeer sank to his knees and groaned mournfully—because there was no sign of Kristoff on the other side.


	4. Chapter 4

**QUICK NOTES**

**Carrymehome: I completely agree. Loved the movie, but what I like about the **_**original**_** tale is that the gender roles are reversed. Gerda saves Kai, if I remember correctly, which is just an awesome take on the traditional heroine. She saves the man.**

**The fact that Anna saves herself is also admirable, but I wanted to see how it might play out if I took events closer to their original conclusion. It's still the ****Frozen**** universe, though. Elsa never quite turns evil in my story—maybe just criminally negligent—and Hans will still make his appearance to scheme against them all. As you do.**

**Also, I have a hard time writing Kristoff, for some reason, so it's just easier to silence him. Anna and Elsa and Hans are easy. Olaf is surprisingly difficult. And Sven, my absolute favorite character, has his own challenges.**

**Hope I don't disappoint, since the Snow Queen connection is still pretty tenuous in my version. Oh, well.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

It took two days for them to find the sled, and nearly two more to make it—at last—to the final pitch of the mountain. First, they had to move along the length of the chasm until they found it's tapered end, which only led them further astray. After doubling back to locate the abandoned sleigh, Anna had had to knot the loose ends of Sven's bridle to the severed reins in order to render it useful again—and it wasn't until she had done this, as if by rote, that she realized she had finally managed to tie Kristoff's butterfly knot on her own. This made her eyes sting with tears, but she refused to let them fall. He'd told her to meet him on the mountain, and this she intended to do.

She took great comfort in her reindeer companion—actually started to understand why Kristoff spoke to him in the way that he did—and in Olaf, as well, who they found wandering the ridge where they'd last seen him fending off the giant snow creature. Of the monster or its mistress, there was no sign.

They did not want for food or clothing, as Kristoff had seen to it that Anna ended up with both packs in addition to all the gear that had been left behind. She did not like to think of how he was faring without, but as a general rule she refrained from thinking at all—because the results of doing so were too painful to bear.

She never would have made it without Sven, who knew these peaks, their perils, and their remote places of safety as well as any mountain man. The reindeer had spent his entire life accompanying Kristoff over and around these glaciated hills. Which is why Anna steadfastly believed that Kristoff would find his way to the North Mountain—and to them. He was, after all, a native of this inhospitable terrain. He'd grown up, not just at the base but deep in the heart of these precipices. If anyone knew how to make it through an avalanche, it was he.

She told herself this over and over again as she and Sven made their disconsolate way to the ice queen's domain. Nothing could have prepared her, however, for what they found there.

A palace made of ice.

From the very bones of the mountain there seemed to arise, impossibly, a delicate latticework of frozen snow—pure and clear and light. Ethereal turrets stood against the solid earth, while stone promontories held up perfect apertures that bore glassy casements of ice. It was terrible and remarkable all at once, and Anna took it in with wonderment.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home," observed Olaf.

She followed his gaze and saw what she had, in her astonishment, at first overlooked: her sister's immaculate fortress was beginning to fall apart. She could see splinters of weakness in the walls and floors. Panes of broken ice adhered to broad, mullioned window frames, and downy heaps of snow had blown in through the gaps. The place looked deserted.

She thought of the stories that had begun to circulate amongst the villagers and mountain dwellers of Arendelle—tales of an icy queen, frigid in both figure and temperament, wandering the landscape like a restless spirit. The cold hadn't bothered Elsa; perhaps she didn't _need_ a roof over her head.

What if she wasn't here?

Anna took a deep breath. There was only one way to find out.

She had to leave Sven outside the gates. He glared furiously and attempted to follow, but all that smooth ice made it difficult for him to climb the stairs, and so he had to remain behind. Anna stroked his soft nose, and kissed it, and spoke kindly to him, and he gazed at her with sad, soulful eyes.

Olaf gave him a sympathetic pat on the knee, which was about as far as he could reach. "Bye, Sven."

Anna shook her head. "You too, Olaf."

The snowman looked crestfallen. "Me?"

"Just … give me a minute. OK?"

He gave in, reluctantly, and sat at the reindeer's feet. Together, they watched her run her mittens over the sleek balustrade that led to a set of elaborate doors. She turned, once, to glance behind at her companions. Then she disappeared inside the palace.

For one, interminable moment, the shrill wind fell silent and her heart stilled.

She did not feel the cold.

Below a cathedral window with its shards of fractured ice, the snow had collected in smooth drifts. A pale light filtered in through the frame and, more faintly, through the opaque walls of the fortress itself. It illuminated a chamber both vast and exquisite, like an empty chancel leached of all color but no less sublime. In fact, the room had the air of a sanctuary, a fact whose irony might not have been lost on Anna in different circumstances. As it was, it would have been an achingly beautiful scene in the moonlight, with errant flakes of snow trailing from the vaulted ceiling, had Kristoff not been wound so tightly in upon himself beneath it.

She found her breath and whispered his name, but her voice died in the brittle air.

The room and everything in it was filled with an unearthly stillness. Anna remained where she was. She was afraid to approach him, this man—this _boy_, really—who had saved her not once but three times in their long days together. Looking at him now, she recognized his features but did not know him, not like this. Her Kristoff could haul her up and toss her unceremoniously onto the back of a cantering reindeer. This Kristoff was … fragile.

She said his name again, but he did not—or could not—hear. So she stepped forward at last, hesitated, and then gingerly closed the distance. She swallowed hard and sank to her knees beside him, but he didn't stir.

She had never touched him before, not in any deliberate way, and her mittened hand hovered uncertainly over his shoulder. She could see how these days had gone for him. His knees were drawn tight to his chest, his head bowed, his arms pressed over his heart. She stifled a small sob, and the sound resonated in the icy hall. She covered her mouth with her hands. He had tried to contain the dwindling heat of his body, succumbing slowly and alone, to the cold.

He wasn't shivering. His hair was dusted with frost.

She let her hand fall to his shoulder. Then she drew it back, removed her mittens—both of them—and rested her bare fingers against his cheek. She leaned in and whispered to him again.

"Kristoff." Her voice splintered. She sniffed and tried again. "Can you hear me?"

He was so thin. She had felt it in his shoulder, through her mittened fingers before she'd exposed them to the raw night's chill. His skin was translucent, his eyes traced in grey wells of darkness. Like shadows against the snow.

And they opened, now, both slowly and suddenly. It was so unexpected that Anna reared back in surprise and snatched her hands away from him. A peculiar sound escaped her throat, something that equally resembled weeping and laughter. She fell hard on her backside and stared.

Kristoff's gaze was unfocused, but he knew her. She understood this as positively as she understood that the sky is blue. Well, usually blue. In the summer. When it wasn't cloudy or foggy or raining. Or snowing.

She scrambled to her knees and leaned in again, making sure he could see her, but his eyes were already closing.

"No! _No-no-no-no-no_," she tapped her fingers against his cheek. "Kristoff? _Kristoff_." She grasped his shoulders with both hands.

"Look at me," she said firmly. And again to her surprise, he did.

His lips parted as if to tell her "yes" he could hear her, or "_let go of me_"—or to say her name, she couldn't know—but they were dry and cracked in the high altitude air, barren of any moisture at all, and she saw him give in again to exhaustion. His eyes closed, and he did not wake when she shook him.

"All right," she said, patting him gently. "It's all right."

Then she gave in, as well, to her relief at finding him alive—if only just—and to her fear for him, and for herself, and for the fact that he'd suffered all this time without his hat. Or his reindeer. She snifled over him for a long time, and she tried to cover him with her own slight body, to give him some of her warmth because she didn't know what to do next, how to get him down from the mountain. How to save him from her sister.

Eventually she sat up, wiped the ooze from her nose, and began to consider her options. There was no place between the North Mountain and Arendelle where they could expect any help—not the kind that they needed. She knew enough about the elements and the unforgiving character of her native land to recognize that Kristoff shouldn't have survived the cold, or the lack of water, after all this time. If his current state were brought about by anything natural, his body would have surrendered days ago. The sliver in his heart must be keeping him alive even as it slowly killed him. Which meant that his condition was the result of magic—Elsa's magic.

This was a hopeful thought. But also vaguely foreboding. If it was magic that caused him harm, surely it was magic that could save him.

But where was Elsa?

She'd been seen wandering the mountain's desolate flanks, they said, always on foot and never resting. She roved from one peak to the next, rootless and forlorn, and rarely ventured below timberline. Her nightly pilgrimage was becoming part of local lore. _You'd better listen to your parents_, they warned their children, _or the Snow Queen will snatch you away to ease her loneliness_.

Nonsense, all of it. But the fact remained that Elsa's fortress of isolation had fallen into slow decay. It seemed to have been abandoned—or very nearly so—splintering along its groundwork of ice. No one had been here in some time.

And then, as though summoned by her thoughts, a voice cut through the frigid air—but it did not come from Kristoff.

* * *

**Sorry for the long notes, above. Carrymehome made me think of how this story does or does not stay true to the fairy tale, so I added a bit to … I don't know … manage expectations. If you read, I'd appreciate a comment or two. Just to know it's got an audience. Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5

**QUICK NOTES**

**I had to cut the present scene into two chapters due to its length, so the start of this particular chapter feels a little abrupt to me. It may read more smoothly if you revisit the very end of Chapter 4 before you continue on here. Sorry!**

**Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

"Anna?"

She sat up sharply and turned to see Elsa staring wild-eyed through the door of the chamber. Her posture was stiff and poised to act. For a moment they studied each other in silence. But Elsa broke the spell. It was clear, as she bore down upon her sister, that she was not pleased to see her.

Had either been in a position to analyze what Anna did next, they would have been profoundly discomposed. Without thinking, she threw her arms over Kristoff. And rather than pleading with Elsa for reconciliation, as she had done repeatedly up until this point, her eyes were charged with bitterness. Her breath condensed in little clouds between them, and she did not back down.

They were both stunned—because instead of embracing her sister, Anna was embracing Kristoff. And because in her eyes there was a look of such resentment and mistrust that it took Elsa's breath away. And because Anna had been overcome at once by a ferocity of emotion that left her shaken and unnerved. In spite of the cold, she sensed a flare of heat in her cheeks. Her eyes burned. Her palms itched.

It was frightening for both of them, but for very different reasons.

Elsa staggered back. She felt hurt and ashamed. Anna's instinct had been to shield her friend from danger, and the source of that danger was Elsa, herself.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Anna felt the spirit drain from her limbs as quickly and unexpectedly as it had come.

"You have to help me."

Elsa frowned. "What? _No_. Go home, Anna."

Anna rose to her feet and began to move toward her sister, but then thought better of it. She clutched her hands together instead. "We won't make it to Arendelle in time."

"What are you talking about?"

Anna's anger returned. "Use your eyes! _He's freezing_, Elsa."

Startled, Elsa looked down at the boy and studied him for the first time. She took in the unhealthy pallor, the inadequacy of his clothes at this altitude, in this weather, at this late hour. The unnatural fringe of snow in his eyelashes.

Then she looked at her hands.

"Kristoff?" she whispered.

Anna nodded, suddenly tearful again.

"I did this?"

Anna did not reply at first. Then she said, "It's not your fault."

Elsa's face contorted. She shook her head and brought her hands to her temples. "I told you to stay _away_ from me!" she wailed. A flurry of snow ascended into the vault. Anna held out her hands as though she could subdue her sister's terror with them.

"I know, but ..." Anna's voice hitched. "You're the only one who can save him—"

"I _can't_!"

"You can! Elsa, you _must_! I don't have your magic ..."

Anna was interrupted by the sound of fracturing ice. Fault lines appeared in the walls. She stumbled and reached instinctively for her sister, but Elsa pulled away and laughed bitterly.

"I kill everything I touch," she said, her voice turning hard and flat.

"That's not true! You make things come alive in the snow—"

"_A_ _monster_!"

"I don't think so, Elsa. He brought Kristoff here, carried him over the mountain." Anna searched her sister's face desperately. "And you made Olaf! You made him _live_. You can do it again!"

"It's not the same. I don't know how!"

Anna fell quiet. A delicate shattering of ice echoed from unseen corners of the hall. Somewhere below them, the foundation upon which they stood settled with a hollow groan. Anna glanced at Kristoff.

"We won't make it to Arendelle," she repeated. Then she looked at her sister meaningfully. "We don't have time."

Elsa wavered. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and a frozen beam splintered from the rafters above. The ground trembled. She took a deep breath, struggled to compose herself, and at last, turned to Kristoff. She knelt by his side and murmured something soft and sad and afraid. Then she moved her hand as though to rest it over his heart. At the same moment, a fragment of icy window setting fell to the floor with a fragile dissonance.

Fear crept into Elsa and lay a scrim of frost on her fingertips. She pulled them back as though she'd been burned.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm sorry!"

Anna threw her arm over her eyes as an aggressive wind swept down from above, pushing needles of frozen snow before it. Elsa gazed headlong into the squall. Then she rose from the floor, tendrils of damp hair whipping about her face. Her expression was twisted by conflicting emotions—horror and misery and shame—and for the first time Anna was afraid not of her sister's powers but of Elsa, herself.

"Don't come back here, Anna," she said coldly.

Anna stared at her in disbelief.

"Elsa, he'll die!"

Her sister said nothing.

"Arendelle, too," pressed Anna. She pointed toward the gate and everything that lay outside of it: the settlements of innocent farmers and villagers and tradesmen. "_We can't survive this winter_ ..."

Elsa turned away in answer. She wrung her hands despairingly, and huge, tectonic plates of ice reared up at their feet. Anna clenched her fists and planted herself on the stable platform beneath the window, feeling herself torn between the extremes of rage and panic. Her eyes hardened. Pivoting on her heel, she marched back to Kristoff and seized his wrist with both hands.

"Please," she begged quietly. "_Wake up, wake up_ ..."

She pulled with all her strength, propelled by fear. But it wasn't enough. The snow queen watched her with a mixture of helplessness and detachment, but Anna refused to acknowledge her.

Who could she call on for help now, as the palace collapsed beneath their very feet? Sven was outside the gates, no doubt driven wild by the absence of Kristoff. The trolls? Entirely out of reach. Olaf? What could a pint-sized snowman do?

"_Oh_!" she gasped, her eyes growing wide in sudden realization.

And with that she lifted her voice above the tumult and cried out for Elsa's creature, the sad, lonely giant born of snow and wintry atmosphere. As if in reply, a low burst of noise rolled in from the gate, followed by heavy steps that reverberated through the palace halls.

Anna pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders and shifted from one foot to the other, studiously ignoring her sister. She bit her lip. It occurred to her, far too late, that perhaps this wasn't the best idea. It wasn't like she and the giant had parted on friendly terms the last time they'd met ...

But this was no time for doubt.

Deep set, luminous eyes emerged from the dark entryway, followed by the slow-moving bulk of Elsa's snow creature. It stepped ponderously into the room, saw Anna hovering next to Kristoff, and pinned her with an invidious glare. She raised her hands in a placating gesture.

"Hi, um, Mr. Marshmallow? We haven't properly met, but I need your help."

The giant snowman growled.

"_We_! I meant _'we'_." Anna indicated herself and Kristoff. "_We_ need your help."

Marshmallow tipped his head inquisitively. He reached out and poked a clumsy finger at Kristoff, gently pressing his shoulder until he rolled onto his back. The creature furrowed his crude brow.

Elsa watched the proceedings warily. "_Anna_," she hissed.

Anna made a dismissive gesture without taking her eyes off the snowman. "It's OK," she murmured. "I think he's lonely. I think that's why he brought Kristoff here in the first place ..."

She pointed at a scattering of crystalline shapes, each in the precise form of an apple. One even had a snowman-sized bite taken from the side, as though the giant had been trying to demonstrate to Kristoff what the thing was for.

Marshmallow, meanwhile, was still prodding Kristoff for signs of life. It made a strangely mournful sound, like the creaking of dry snow but with a querulous inflection at the end. The creature swung its great head toward Anna and looked at her expectantly.

"He's very cold," she began, but it merely looked at her, uncomprehending. "You know, _cold_." She rubbed her arms for emphasis. "_Brrrrrrrr_!"

Marshmallow blinked vaguely. He turned to Elsa.

"I don't think he understands the concept of 'cold,' Anna."

Of course. Anna groped for words that didn't call for personal experience with thermal adjustment.

"He's ... ah ... hurt," she managed. Marshmallow looked alarmed.

"And we need to get him warm. Get him _well_," she corrected. She stole a glance at her sister, who gave an infinitesimal shrug of her shoulders.

"Soooo," Anna said carefully. "We need to take him to the castle. _Our_ castle," she glowered at Elsa, "at the bottom of the mountain."

The snowman, who'd been following this exchange with painstaking effort, reared up and bellowed thunderously. Anna cringed and held up her hands.

"We won't hurt him!" she cried. "I promise we won't hurt him!"

Marshmallow lumbered closer and, ducking its head, peered into her eyes. Summoning all of her courage, Anna returned its gaze.

"We're going to help him," she said quietly. Then she held her breath.

For a moment, the creature seemed to deliberate with as much canniness as was possible in the face of an overgrown snowball. Then it pushed her aside and, cupping its hands, lifted Kristoff with extraordinary tenderness from the ground.

Anna felt weak with relief. Quickly she gathered her mittens and hastened to keep pace with the snowman. She hadn't noticed that the wind had stalled or that the snow had ceased completely. But she did notice that Elsa wasn't following.

She turned to look at her sister.

"I'm not going, Anna."

The lofty walls creaked with strain and fissures widened across the chamber floor. Anna backed away.

"I _will_ come back for you," she said. Then she ran from the palace.


	6. Chapter 6

**QUICK NOTES**

**Please drop a note in the review section if you are reading—this story is not getting much response and I'm not sure I should continue with it. Thank you, thank you, to those who are following!**

**Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Sven was fighting his harness. She could see vehemence in his eyes: he wanted Kristoff, and he'd been waiting too long on his own without knowing if he was safe. It hadn't helped when Anna came barreling down the ice bridge, followed by the cumbrous giant. The latter held something in his hands that looked suspiciously like his friend.

"_Shh—shh—shh_," soothed Anna, pulling down on his ears. "It's all right now."

Sven tossed his head and sidestepped agitatedly at the approach of Marshmallow. Anna told him to hold still while the snowman gently laid Kristoff in the bed of the sleigh. Then she scrambled into the seat and seized the reins.

"Thank you," she said to the creature. It rumbled like a small avalanche in reply, and then hunkered down in the snow and watched them moodily.

A thin, watercolor smear of pale light was just beginning to appear behind the eastern mountains. If they were lucky, they might make it to the walls of Arendelle before nightfall. But even now, Anna could hear that Kristoff was having difficulty breathing—as though the natural humidity in his lungs was beginning to crystallize. And though Arendelle was a progressive city with some exceptionally skilled physicians, not a single one would know how to treat a magical affliction such as this.

She needed help of another kind.

"Olaf!" she cried.

A vaguely pear-shaped head, garnished with a sprig of small branches, emerged from the plane of snow to their left, where he'd been watching the stars fade between wisps of disintegrating storm clouds.

"_Hello_!" he chirped. "Here I am! I was just thinking about—"

Anna cut him off hurriedly, before he could lapse into moony discourse.

"I need you to go to the trolls," she said urgently. "I need you to find Pabbie."

Olaf nodded. "I _love_ the trolls!" he enthused. "What should I tell them?"

Anna tightened her grip on the reins. "Kristoff needs help," she said, eyeing the snowman seriously. She needed him to focus. "Olaf, tell them to come right away."

He understood. "Got it!" he said. Without further comment, he took a waddling leap onto his frontside and began to slide away in the direction of the troll hollow. But just before his strange little body was lost from view, his voice trailed thinly behind him.

"_Waaaiiit_! _Where are you going_?"

Anna snapped the reins. "Arendelle!" she called over her shoulder, then turned to the reindeer. "_Go, Sven_!" And with an abrupt lurch of the sled, they left the North Mountain behind them.

A diffuse grey light settled on the snowscape before them. Sven careened through heavy drifts, brushing narrowly past stands of spruce and aspen. Anna's hands grew stiff in the cold, her cheeks burned by the wind. They stopped only twice so that Sven could drink from a passing stream, but there was little to eat and neither felt compelled to do so.

Each time they stopped, Anna clambered over the seat to check on Kristoff, and each time she did this her concern grew worse. She'd emptied their two packs of any materials that could be used for warmth and piled them over and around his body—which hadn't ended up being much use at all given the length of him. The packs themselves went to cradling his head against the movement of the sleigh as Sven dodged hidden debris.

Kristoff had opened his eyes at the second stop and watched her languidly while she made adjustments. He seemed unconcerned about the effort it apparently took for him to draw breath, which was alarming. And this time he didn't recognize her when she spoke to him, which was heartbreaking.

Anna felt very much alone in the wilderness.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed under the flat light of the sky, but hours of frantic galloping through the snow was beginning to take its toll. Anna could see that the reindeer's strength was flagging and she, too, felt weakened by the chill and the damp.

"Come on, Sven!" she urged. Her feet had long since gone numb, and her arms ached. Above them, the pearlescent light began to deepen into the color of ash.

* * *

A voice cried out from the ramparts above, and then heavy bolts could be heard sliding against the doors from inside. A second voice hailed his comrades and shouted for aid. The doors ground against their hinges.

Anna was dimly aware of shadows, indistinct against the dark of a moonless night, shifting over the paving stones. Sven groaned and staggered to his knees in the deserted castle court. She called out to him, forced her rigid hands to release their grip on the reins, and attempted to rise to her feet. When this failed, she turned to straddle the bench and collapsed over it into the bed of the sleigh next to Kristoff. Weakly, she righted herself, but feeling at once dizzy and nauseous, let her head fall to his chest instead. She closed her eyes and lay there for a moment, only distantly aware of footsteps pounding the flagstones toward them.

It was in this brief moment that she realized Kristoff's heart was barely beating.

Above them the castle doors were thrown open, releasing a flood of light from within. She heard urgent voices descending the steps and increasing in volume as they advanced. These converged with the steps of the guardsmen, who had been hurrying from their stations at the gate.

"It's the princess!"

"She is unwell!"

"Someone alert Prince Hans!"

And then a familiar voice rang out above the rest, speaking with gentle authority.

"I'm here! Move aside, please—let me through."

Anna opened her eyes and pushed herself up. "_Hans_!" she gasped.

He was there, reaching for her fretfully, concern etched in his face. Anna allowed him to put his arm around her, and as he did she turned and leaned against him. But when he tried to lift her from the sled, she pushed him away and clutched at the man lying next to her. Hans could see that he was either ill or wounded.

"Don't do this," she whispered, and it took a moment for Hans to realize that she wasn't speaking to him. She gripped the pale man's coat. "Pabbie's coming …"

Hans caught a soldier glancing at him surreptitiously. "She's in shock," he said in a loud voice. "We have to get her inside."

Anna tightened her grip. "Hold on," she keened. "_Hold on, hold on, hold on_."

The prince directed a soldier to extract her from the sled and carry her into the castle, admonishing him to be as delicate as possible. Then he projected his voice over the solemn murmurings of the rest.

"Who is the sentry on task at this hour?"

A young soldier separated himself from the crowd. "I am, Your Highness."

Hans signaled for him to approach for council but was distracted at that moment by a disturbance from behind. Anna was resisting the poor youth who had been appointed to help her.

"No!" she yelped. She kicked out and swung with her arms. "Hans! Wait!"

Hans rushed again to her side and smoothed the hair from her face. "Hush, Anna," he said kindly. "What is it? You must get inside—" She was dangerously cold, he could see. Her shoulders trembled and her teeth chattered convulsively. Her lips were an unwholesome shade of purple.

"You have to take care of Kristoff," she demanded. "Call the physician—"

"We will do what we can, but Anna—" he replied, "his duty is, first and foremost, _your_ well-being. And you are ill."

"You don't understand!" she cried. "Elsa struck him with her powers …" She held a hand over her heart. "_Here_."

Hans's eyes grew wide.

"He moved in front of me," she murmured. "He _saved_ me."

"You said she would never hurt you!"

Anna dropped her gaze. "I was wrong," she said quietly.

The prince hesitated. This was an unexpected development, indeed. "We will apply our best resources to your friend's recovery," he concluded. "He has done the kingdom … and myself … a great service in delivering you from harm."

The tender admission in the midst of this grand speech was not lost on Anna, but she was shaken and distraught. She stared at him intently.

"You must let Pabbie see to him when he arrives," she insisted. "Right away! Promise me …"

Hans did not hesitate. "Of course. I will alert the guardsmen."

Finally, Anna allowed the soldier to lift her from the sled. She could feel the adrenaline that had kept her coherent up until this point abandon her limbs, and she let her head rest against the young man's shoulder.

"Thank you, Hans," she whispered. He bent down and kissed her forehead, and then signed for the soldier to carry her inside.

He watched them ascend the steps and disappear into the warmth of the castle, surrounded by a flurry of staff. After a moment of contemplative silence, he turned back to the sentry from the gate.

"Your name, sir?"

"Gunnar, Your Highness."

Hans grasped the man's elbow and steered him from the crowd. "Abide for a moment, if you will," he said quietly.

Gunnar nodded mutely, his eyes wide. Then Hans turned to address a nearby member of the senior staff.

"This man is a hero to the princess and to Arendelle," he announced. "See to it that he receives the best medical attention at once."

He had neglected to mention the unusual nature of the ailment, of course, but that would not prove necessary in the long run.

"Yes, Prince Hans."

Next, he turned to the stable master. "Please take care of this poor creature," he said, indicating Sven. "He is clearly suffering from overexertion. Offer him your sincerest attentions."

"Assuredly, sir."

Hans expressed gratitude and kindly dismissed them. At last, he returned his attention to the guardsman. "I beg your pardon, Gunnar, but I need you to heed me carefully," he said, his voice grim. "I have reason to believe that the princess's life is in danger."

The soldier's mouth fell open in what Hans thought to be a rather vulgar expression of surprise. No matter.

"I require you to close the gates to all traffic until I inform you otherwise. I will confer with your captain."

"Of course, Your Highness."

"And do not, under any circumstances, engage with a person answering to the name of 'Pabbie.' Should this person demand entrance, notify me immediately. I am certain he is dangerous."

"Yes, sir."

Hans clapped him fraternally on the shoulder and sent him on his way. In spite of the stricken look he maintained for the public, he was feeling quite pleased. Naturally, he could not have anticipated this turn of events, but they were evolving in his favor nonetheless. Now he need only collect Arendelle's cadre of governing advisers and direct them inside to a private chamber where they would not be disturbed. This he did as efficiently as possible.

"Gentleman, I have grave news indeed," he began, once they were all seated in the dimly lit anteroom to the queen's study. A fire blazing in the hearth cast distorted shadows against the wainscoting.

They watched him apprehensively, their eyes betraying a willful sort of trust. If any harbored secret reservations against placing their confidence in an untried, thirteenth son from the south, these men suppressed their doubts well. They were in his thrall, so much the better.

Hans took a reluctant breath and affected a doleful manner. "It is with a heavy heart that I say this," he began, pausing as though deeply conflicted.

"What is it, Prince Hans?"

He dragged a hand over his jaw, staring wearily into the middle distance. "Queen Elsa has assaulted the princess," he said.

There was a cry of explosive disbelief.

"What?!"

"The queen?"

"But that is impossible!"

Hans shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not," he lamented.

"But what are we to do?"

The prince did not immediately reply. He looked at his hands, then at each member of the council with an expression of profound dismay.

"I'm afraid I have no choice … but to declare that the queen has acted in treason against the princess and the state. In so doing, she is responsible for the death of an innocent tradesman, who selflessly shielded Princess Anna from harm at desperate cost to himself." He paused to let the needlessness of this tragedy sink in. "Her sustained attack on the kingdom of Arendelle, and its outlying districts, will only increase the suffering of its people until this perverse winter is dealt with ... Therefore, I must command her immediate arrest."

No one dared speak for several moments. The prince's words hung heavily between them.

"And what then?" stammered a portly gentleman, his countenance stricken by burdens far exceeding the wisdom of his conscience. He needn't have asked, and each man in the room knew this.

The sentence for betrayal of the kingdom was, unequivocally, death.


	7. Chapter 7

**QUICK NOTES**

**Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Anna hadn't meant to sleep. She knew that there would be no saving Kristoff until Pabbie arrived with his knowledge of all things magical, and that every moment spent waiting for the troll was a moment bringing them closer to grief. Yet they wouldn't let her see him.

"I beg your pardon, Princess, but you have been through a great deal," they argued gently. "You need rest."

Anna fidgeted. She longed for someone to talk to. The men and women who had been sent to fuss over her did not count.

"Shall we send for the prince, Your Highness?"

"Who?"

"The prince, ma'am."

Anna gazed at the speaker blankly.

"Prince Hans, Your Highness."

"Oh!" Anna waved her hand distractedly. "Of course. But, thank you … no. That won't be necessary." Perhaps the trolls had already arrived. Surely, Pabbie would know what to do.

The alternative did not bear thinking.

And then the heat of a bath and the warmth of her bed conspired with extreme fatigue to pull her under, and after insisting that she stay awake until assurances could be made that Kristoff would be well taken care of, she fell into complete oblivion.

She might have slept for hours, if not days at this point, had it not been for the sound of a commotion ringing from the gate outside. Anna rose from the bed, her hair hanging damply against her nightclothes. At once, the sense of urgency that had been left behind in sleep came flooding back to her. She stumbled barefoot to the window and attempted to look out at the source of the disturbance, but could see nothing.

Hurriedly, she stepped into a clean dress and moved out to the hall. She would find where Kristoff was and go to him herself.

It was still dark outside, but she hadn't been able to determine whether it was deepest night or the early hours of morning. She peered through the dim light for someone who could direct her, but the palace halls seemed entirely deserted. Arendelle had been, for as long as she could remember, only minimally staffed. But though she knew the palace well—grew up bicycling recklessly through its halls—she had no idea where they would have taken Kristoff after she'd been separated from him. At length, though, she encountered a young housemaid carrying folded linens in the opposite direction. She pointed Anna toward the east wing of the castle. Anna picked up her skirts and sprinted through the semidarkness. She met no other soul until she reached her destination.

A soldier was stationed outside the door.

"Why is this room under guard?" she cried.

"The prince's orders, Your Highness."

"But that's ridiculous!"

What was Hans thinking? That Kristoff was a danger to Arendelle? Or that something in the palace would be a threat to him? No guard had been standing outside of _her_ door, and presumably there was an interest in keeping the princess—and second in line to the throne—safe and secure.

These thoughts competed vaguely with the prattle of conversation in which she was, apparently, still engaged.

"Not you. I mean, _you're_ not ridiculous, I'm sure," she was saying. She bit her lip in order to save herself from further embarrassment, then added lamely, "You seem very nice." There was a silence in which the guard looked at her confusedly. "Just let me in, please," she finished in a low voice.

"I'm afraid that's not advisable, Princess."

Turning, Anna saw Hans step out from the shadows behind her. She felt herself relax at the sound of his voice in spite of the fact that it told her precisely what she didn't want to hear.

"Hans! _What_ is going on?" she demanded, then stopped short. "Wait, did you follow me here?"

The soldier watched this exchange with interest, but Hans ignored him.

"Well, _I_ didn't … but I may have called in a few favors," he replied, grinning warmly. At the sight of her indignation, however, he grew serious. "I was worried about you, Anna."

At this moment, a tremendous racket from outside cut him off. It sounded as though some seething giant of old was hurling handfuls of frozen earth at the gate. Hans wrapped his long fingers around Anna's arm and pulled her gently away from the door and the hearing of its guard.

"I think it is best that you return to your rooms," he said firmly. Anna resisted.

"No. I need to see Kristoff."

"It's not proper."

She laughed. "Well, that's just silly."

"You're not wearing _shoes_."

"He saved my life!"

At this, the prince snapped. "I will _not_ have you consorting with some common merchant, half-dressed and undone in the small hours of the morning!" It was a tone Anna had never heard him use before, and it shocked her into silence. Behind them, the soldier stood at attention. Breathing heavily, Hans recovered control and lowered his voice. "As your future husband and king of the realm, I insist you obey."

For a moment, Anna ceased her struggling. Her eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed. She wrenched her arm free.

"What do you mean?"

Hans set his jaw.

"_Elsa_ is the queen of Arendelle," she said in a tight voice.

"Not for much longer."

Anna studied his face, appraising him critically. "What have you done?"

"Only what is best for the people," he retorted. "Elsa is unpredictable. She has acted in violence against the state, laying siege with this … _infernal_ winter. It won't be long before the villagers succumb to this cold."

He smiled.

"She won't let that happen," persisted Anna.

"I'm afraid it's too late. Our men are searching the North Mountain as we speak. They will either apprehend her and return with her to Arendelle—or exact swift justice."

"_You can't do this_!"

"Oh, Anna," he said. "I already have. You put me in charge, and clearly you are too infirm to govern at this time."

"You can't hurt her!"

"And why should I not?"

"Hans, she's frightened! She can't control it—those men are in danger."

"Indeed they are." He shook his head regretfully. "She attacked you—her own _sister_. And she has destroyed an innocent man, a good man ... a hero."

"_WHAT_?"

But Anna's question would go unanswered, for now the captain of the guard appeared at the end of the corridor and called out to them both. Hans welcomed the man with relief; Anna with consternation. Was the entire populace of Arrendelle awake to plague her errand? What had the prince meant? Elsa had _killed_ a person? Who?

"Excuse me Your Highnesses," said the captain. "But there is a situation at the gate."

Hans assumed control. "What is it?"

Anna ignored them. Her thoughts were in turmoil. Although her rational self could make sense of Hans's words, malicious and self-serving though they were, her heart refused to comply with reason. She floundered within her own internal storm, so unmindful of the exchange before her that she almost failed to hear the captain's reply.

"Trolls ... sir."

His words were punctuated by a heavy sequence of crashing noises arising from the court. Anna started and groped for the nearest window.

"_Pabbie_," she breathed.

"We have denied him entry, as requested, Prince Hans. But he and his companions are ... most insistent."

Anna's heart skipped a beat at these words. She felt ill.

"You turned him away?"

The captain looked at her with perplexity and concern. "Yes, Princess. Are you quite well?"

"She needs rest," interjected Hans. He reached for her arm again, but she backed away.

"You promised!" she whispered.

Hans smiled indulgently. "You've been through a frightful ordeal, Anna. I'm afraid you're confused."

He was speaking to her, but his words were clearly meant for the captain's benefit. The truth was broadcast in his eyes, and they said: "_I lied_."

Anna felt as though he had dealt her a physical blow. She stumbled through the pain of it, and her mind began to spin with the terrible implications of what he'd revealed to her.

Without Pabbie, Kristoff would die.

Hans, meanwhile, was courteously dismissing the captain of the guard. "If you'll excuse us ..."

Anna lifted her chin and glared. "No."

Both men turned to her in surprise. The poor captain did not know whose command to follow. Hans frowned, and this time his eyes betrayed an trace of doubt.

"I am the princess of Arendelle, and upon my word, you will open those gates," Anna commanded. "Captain, inform your men. Then you may escort Prince Hans to his chamber, where he will remain, under guard, until I see fit to call on him."

Hans stared at her. "I will not!"

"You will," she replied shortly. Then she turned to the soldier at the door. "Please open this door. And if you would be so kind as to accompany our visitors below to this room, I would be very much obliged."


	8. Chapter 8

**QUICK NOTES**

**Thanks for reviewing! This is a short one, but it was a natural stopping point. So.**

**Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

It was warm. More than warm, actually: it was stifling. There was a table, a chair, a small lead-paned window, a spare bed, and a simple hearth. It was a cheerless room in spite of the fire in the grate.

Gerda sat knitting in the chair. She looked up when Anna entered the room, and her eyes softened knowingly.

"Come in, dear," she said.

Anna stepped forward. She was aware of the floorboards, worn smooth through ages of use, lying hard beneath her bare feet. There was nothing to cushion them or to maintain the warmth of the room—no rug, no tapestry. Hans had spared little expense in fulfilling his false promise to her.

Her eyes met Gerda's, and she looked away.

"I'm glad you're here," said the woman mildly. She stood and busied herself with a tea setting on the table. "I could use your help."

Anna watched her dully. The reveal of Hans's true nature had both enervated and depressed her spirits, all within the space of a moment. She let Gerda lead her in simple tasks, too stunned and weary and sad to give much thought to her actions. It was clear that the old woman knew well of Hans's treachery—perhaps suspected it all along, but it would not have been her place to say. Elsa, thankfully, had protected them both without knowing half the extent of his designs. But she had not been able to save them all, in the long run.

Anna sat on the edge of the bed where Gerda had gently pressed her, a cup of steaming tea in her hands. She did not think of the propriety of her situation—that had always been someone else's job—and she did as the housemistress directed. Neither woman spoke for some time.

Kristoff slept under several layers of wool and featherdown. As Gerda had said, he took the tea when offered but did so reflexively, as though the act of swallowing did not require conscious thought. Which, Anna supposed, it didn't. The darkness around his eyes appeared like fading bruises against his skin, which was as unnaturally white as the summer snow.

Anna put down the tea and stared at nothing. She did not wonder if Pabbie was, at that very moment, on his way with the soldier. She did not fret over her sister and whether she had managed to evade the men from Arendelle—or if she had hurt them. She did not notice the ache of Hans's betrayal. She didn't think or feel a thing, but without any consciousness of her movements, simply curled up on the bed next to Kristoff and closed her eyes.

()

The storm began at daybreak and, by midmorning, Arendelle was lost in a nebulous cloud of white. Villagers peered out their windows to behold a world erased by snow. Tendrils of enchanted frost slipped into their homes, creeping along lintels and under door frames, probing chimney stacks, skirting weaknesses throughout the kingdom.

They tried to fend it off. Shutters were latched, sealed, and insulated with whatever they had at hand. Firewood was rationed. Men, women, and children huddled together for warmth. Not a living soul moved along the streets, the docks, the marketplace. An outside observer, were he able to withstand the cold, would have looked upon a city entirely bereft of life.

This vaporous chill quickly disoriented the men on the mountain. Their mounts whinnied in plain, animal fear while the men themselves shivered and grew clumsy. They did not often speak, but when they did their words began to slur and their thinking to slip in and out of coherence. The white of the air had become indistinguishable from the white of the snow, and the soldiers who had been sent to find Elsa found instead that they had lost themselves.

They had begun to wander aimlessly when she discovered them. Their eyes were glassy and their faces slack, and they seemed to have forgotten the purpose of their errand. Elsa could guess, however. She knew they had been sent to retrieve her, and this time she did not run.

She was no longer entitled to her freedom. It was yielded the moment she lashed out with her accursed power.

Anna would have lost him by now, the boy who'd helped her through these mountains to find the elusive queen . Elsa was haunted by them both, by Kristoff's stillness and Anna's rage. By the look in her sister's eyes when she'd tried to shelter him from the storm—from Elsa, herself. And he'd had to endure it for days, the slow freezing of his heart. It would have been horrible, painful ...

The only thing he'd been guilty of was kindness.

Anna would never forgive her.

She would never forgive herself.

So she left her fortress for good, and roamed along high moraines and in and out of forests until she came upon the soldiers of Arendelle. And then she gave herself up willingly, though they were not in a state to properly arrest her. Instead, she shepherded them out of the mountains and out of danger. And then she offered her hands to be bound.


	9. Chapter 9

**QUICK NOTES**

**One more to go after this.**

**Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Pabbie was there when Anna woke. His eyebrows bristled in the grey morning light.

"Good morning, Anna," he said. With difficulty, she lifted her head from Kristoff's shoulder. Her limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, and for a brief moment she felt oddly detached from the room around her and the people in it.

Gerda must have gone to tend to her household duties, and Pabbie now perched in the single, rattletrap chair that she had vacated. Anna was strangely mindful of the fact that it shouldn't be strong enough to bear the troll's weight. But in the time it took for her to make this observation, her muddled thinking slowly gained clarity. She remembered her headlong descent from the mountain, her confrontation with Hans, and her fear for those she loved. She shivered. While the heat of the fire had created a cocoon of protective warmth in the room, she felt a chill against her skin.

"He's so cold, Pabbie," she whispered.

"I know, child."

His voice was old and gravelly. His age, though indeterminate, could be measured in geological time. In his eyes shone the wisdom, not of years, but of epochs. There were few left in the world who could begin to comprehend the earth's dark and elemental magic. Pabbie was one of them.

Now she regarded him with a disorienting mix of hope and despair. "His heart ..." she began, covering her own with her two palms. She found that she could not continue.

Pabbie's eyes were fluid in the strange, silvered glow of dawn. Outside, low-hanging clouds intruded narrowly upon the horizon.

"The heart is not easily persuaded to change its course."

"But you can save him?"

Pabbie shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't have that power."

Anna stared. After all she'd been through in the last forty-eight hours, she simply couldn't process the idea that there was nothing more to be done. She felt a feverish warmth flush across her cheeks. It swept down her neck, bloomed across her forearms. She was hot and cold at the same time, as though her body was succumbing, at last, to some patient infection. She buried her face in her hands and softly began to cry, but then Pabbie, who could move as slowly as erosion itself, had not finished.

"Perhaps you do."

"What?"

Pabbie leaned close and took her hands in his. He turned them over and traced her palm with his broad granite thumb.

"Look," he said.

Sniffling, she obeyed—and then gasped, for emanating softly from her cupped hands was a delicate light, faint as spring and pale as fresh buttercream. Her skin prickled with warmth. She gazed in wonderment.

"Only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart," said Pabbie.

Anna looked at him. She didn't understand. How could she perform an act of true love if she didn't even know what true love was? Her experiences with Hans and her sister, who she had alternately misjudged and failed, made this excruciatingly clear.

She thought of Kristoff. His face was angled away from her now, but she knew he was surrendering, at last, to Elsa's magic. He was someplace else, leaving her behind, and suddenly the thought of losing him was not just tragic—it was unbearable.

On impulse, she nudged aside the blankets to expose his heart. Then she took a shuddering breath and placed her hands above it, just as her sister had nearly done back in the fortress of ice. For a moment, nothing happened.

Anna bowed her head and pressed her lips together. It hadn't worked. Pabbie was wrong: nothing could thaw a frozen heart. She would lose the first true friend she had ever made, and after Hans was sent away for his deceit of the kingdom—and of her—she would be alone. Again. Without even her exiled sister for comfort.

She thought she knew, now, what love might be. It was something greater than stolen kisses or the alliance of marriage—greater, even, than the promise of companionship in a lonely world. It began with trust above all else, maybe, and then friendship. It did not happen all at once but required patience and constancy, a willingness to forgive and, finally, a willingness to sacrifice.

Elsa knew love—or thought she did. She had resigned herself to a life of cold isolation in order to protect her sister. But she hadn't, not really. Perhaps if she forgave herself, she could return to Anna … and that would save them both.

Kristoff would have said it had nothing to do with him. He was content on his own, generally ignored the society of other people—love, as far as he was concerned, was irrelevant. Anna remembered the accusation she had slung at him on the mountain, one that he, for his part, hadn't bothered to deny: _No one wants to be alone—except for maybe you_.

But she thought he was wrong, too, because Kristoff somehow understood what love was in spite of all that. On some intuitive level, perhaps, he had shown her patience when she behaved foolishly. He had remained constant when he stood to lose everything that mattered to him—namely, Sven. And, in the end, he had given himself up to save her life.

And she would never have the chance to love him back.

Anna closed her eyes. She was not at first aware that the heat in her fingertips was growing stronger, the pale light increasing. But then she experienced a burning sensation in her hands, and it hurt, and she almost snatched them away.

Until she felt Kristoff take a single, slow breath.

Her eyes flew open. "Pabbie!" she cried. She lifted her hands to her throat and stared, wide-eyed, at the troll.

"I think," he said softly, "that you have discovered the way to save Arendelle, at last."

* * *

Kai paced the length of the entry hall, partly out of fretfulness and partly to keep warm. He was not equipped to handle circumstances such as these. He was a servant to the royal family, true, but with the queen in a cell and the princess behaving erratically, he was perplexed and distraught over how to proceed. Arendelle was in a state of crisis, the young prince was confined to his chamber, and the monarchy was in a shambles.

The queen's staff of advisers was closeted in some room, arguing over what was to be done. But Kai simply worried for the two young women. It did not appear that anyone else did—understandable, of course, given the present calamity. Still, Kai was not in a position to influence the powerful men who were sequestered in that room. He did not have the authority to safeguard the kingdom; the least he could do was safeguard those girls.

He and Gerda had witnessed their infancy—the squealing laughter, the tentative first steps, the tight-fisted tantrums. Childless, themselves, they'd tolerated the royal daughters, disciplined them, and loved them. They'd grieved for Elsa and Anna's separation, and then again for their loss at the death of the king and queen.

Now Kai ached for them both. Elsa, unable to control the magic that she alone bore, was imprisoned for treason and awaiting her death. Anna, feverish and despondent, lay in her rooms or lingered at the side of her friend—he was not sure which. But it didn't matter where she was, now, because it was likely that she would lose both her sister and the young man in close succession.

So he was thoroughly astonished when she appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her hair in wild disarray, her bare feet thrust into a pair of boots several sizes too big. Gerda's, he thought absently.

"Kai!" she cried, bolting for him immediately. "Where is the queen? Where is my sister?"

He looked at her tenderly. Didn't she know?

But he hadn't time to reply before she clutched his hand in hers and said, "Bring me to her. Please!"

Kai frowned. He did not want to be the one to tell her, but he supposed it had better be him or Gerda than that shifty royal from the Southern Isles.

"Princess—" he began.

"We must release her," she cut in urgently, tugging on his arm. "There's still time."

He didn't understand. It was true that communication between the council of state, the household staff, the various dignitaries, and those tending to the princess had largely foundered and failed over the last twenty-four hours. Anna's incredible appearance and the ensuing pandemonium, followed by the detainment of Prince Hans and the arrest of the queen, had led to a veritable collapse of the system.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am. But time for what?"

Anna flashed a slightly manic grin. "Stopping this winter, of course. Come on!"

She grabbed his sleeve and dragged him out of the castle, into the obliterating cloud of the storm, and onto the cobbled pavement. So dense was the veil of snow that Kai almost feared they would lose themselves in the very middle of the civilized world. But he managed to find the gaol in its usual place along the wall of the castle stronghold, not far from the heavy gates themselves. He escorted the princess inside to the guardroom, as was befitting a royal daughter, and then found himself at a loss for words once again.

The princess, however, stepped forward with uncharacteristic aplomb.

"I am here to see the queen," she announced, in as regal a tone as she could muster. Kai was impressed. Until, that is, she added "Please?" with a certain biddable query that completely undermined the weight of her words. He could only hope that Anna would never have to take up the mantle of queen some day. Dear, hapless Anna ...

The guardsmen were visibly startled by her presence—this much was obvious—and they hastened to comply with her wishes. Retrieving a heavy set of keys from an iron bolt on the wall, they led the princess and her chaperone to the cells.

The coldness intensified as they drew closer to the queen. Kai saw the girl shiver. Would her sister even listen to what she had to say? She certainly hadn't so far …

She was standing by the window, gazing out at the beleaguered city, when they arrived at her cell. Her hands were bound and concealed within sleeves of iron. She turned at the sound of the key rotating the tumblers of her prison lock. Her eyes were despairing.

"Elsa!"

The child tripped on a slip of frost as she entered the cell. She recovered and straightened, lifting her head to face the queen. Kai silently withdrew, then, to the corridor outside.

"I know how to save Arendelle," Anna said earnestly, and without preamble.

Elsa's brow furrowed. She ignored her sister's words. "Have you come to say goodbye?"

Anna flinched. "What?"

"My execution, Anna."

At these words, her sister recoiled in horror. She gaped at Elsa, her skin drained of color, her fingers clutching unconsciously at her neck.

"_What_?" she said again. "No! That's not … just … _no_!" She shook her head vehemently. "That is _not_ the way."

Elsa sighed. She looked at her sister compassionately, unhappily, resignedly. "It's the _only_ way, Anna."

"No, it's not," Anna snapped, fisting her hands inside her mittens. "You can fix this. I'm telling you—_I know how_."

The queen shook her head. "Look what I've done," she rejoined softly, gesturing toward the window. "I don't know how to stop this. The people are suffering. I'm _dangerous_."

"But they're surviving!" insisted Anna. "They're cold and hungry, sure, but they're alive. _Arendelle_ is still alive."

They stared at each other. Elsa's expression was decisive. It conveyed the obvious conclusion to Anna's fervent testimonial: _For now_ …

Neither spoke. Then Elsa gazed at her shackled hands. When she lifted her eyes again to Anna's, her meaning was clear—just as it had been back on the mountain. _I kill everything I touch._

But it wasn't true. Or at least, it didn't have to be. Elsa's touch was not a curse—it was a condition, and one to be handled rather than destroyed. She had not meant to cause harm, did not intend to hurt her people or damage her city. No one had ever taught her how to live with her magic. Instead, she'd been locked away, isolated from the world, divested of human affection and human contact. She knew nothing of the thawing power of love.

Anna did, though.

"It's not too late," she said now. "You couldn't help it, Elsa, and besides—you've not caused any injury that can't be repaired."

Elsa looked at her incredulously. "Are you _mad_?" she cried. "Kristoff … the boy with the reindeer—"

"—is going to be OK," interrupted Anna eagerly. "Elsa, he's sleeping. He's safe. That's what I came to tell you. We can fix this thing together!"

At this news—that she had not slain an innocent man with her cold, bare hands—Elsa collapsed, weeping, to the floor of her cell. She bowed her head, her thin shoulders quaking with the force of her relief. She cried without embarrassment, giving herself up for the first time in years to the power of emotion without restraint.

Anna didn't hesitate. Swiftly—and with as much grace as she'd ever managed to possess—she knelt by her sister and enveloped her in her arms. Elsa shrank from her touch at first, afraid she would burn Anna's skin with the frost that issued from her own. But this did not happen, and so she leaned in to the embrace and allowed her sister's shoulder to absorb her tears.

And then, to her bewilderment, she felt a strange, temperate sensation against her cheek where it lay against Anna's arm. It was warmth and it was love, and she could feel it increase across her skin and into her hands and her heart. It was a perception that she hadn't known she'd missed in all those years alone—the feel of touch, of contact with another human being and all the tenderness and all the devotion and all the forgiveness that could be communicated in a single, simple gesture.

And so Elsa hugged her sister back, and the cold lost its grip—at last, at last—on them all.


	10. Chapter 10

**QUICK NOTES**

**Well, this is it. GLORIA-V-A, here's the fluff! **

**Since this story is probably going to disappear into the archive, I'd be very grateful for feedback—but I'm sensitive, so please be gentle. I like words. I mean, I ****_really_**** like words. But I worry that I use too many of them sometimes. Unnecessarily. **

**I'm also overly fond of the sentence fragment. And beginning sentences with conjunctions … See what I did there? The point is that these are intentional errors on my part. The rest? Not so much.**

**This is the denouement, so I've crammed a lot of information in, here. Not sure it works.**

**Anyway.**

**Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

The following afternoon, Kristoff opened his eyes and asked for water. Anna ignored this request and threw her arms around his neck, which proved to be an enormously stupid thing to do. One does not come out of an avalanche unscathed, after all.

The first thing he said was "Where's Sven?" His voice was raw from the cold and hoarse from disuse. Anna assured him that the reindeer was well looked after.

"He misses you," she said, feeling clumsy and sensitive. She busied herself with pouring him a glass of water—room temperature, rather than chilled. She helped him adjust the pillows so that he could rest a little more upright, taking care to avoid jarring his bruised ribs. Then she handed him the glass and perched herself on the edge of the chair, her hands worrying a few stray threads of Gerda's knitting yarn that she'd found on the floor.

He watched her wearily. One of his wrists had been set and bound—a casualty of the slide, she supposed. She wondered how much he knew of the events that followed. Or, she realized with agitation, those that came before.

She could hear birdsong slipping in through the gauzy curtains, along with a slant of warm sunlight and a breath of clean air. Flowers, rather than hoarfrost, lined the windowsill. Somewhere below, Olaf's voice drifted up through his own personal snow cloud. The flurry was Elsa's idea, a way of rescuing him from the returning heat of summer, and he'd been wending his way through the court and the marketplace in a rapture ever since.

Elsa herself was consumed with the prospect of making amends. She'd spent the morning before the people of the city, addressing them in a heartfelt appeal that expressed her desire to elucidate and atone. She demonstrated her powers for them, used her magic to create things of beauty, and then explained how she had learned to control it. She placed herself at the mercy of the city, stating her readiness to abdicate the throne in an act of true penance. This, of course, had thrown Anna into a frenzy of opposition. But the people of Arendelle heard the queen's words and pardoned her, for they were at heart a just and reasonable society, and they loved her. Now she was touring the city with her advisers and with Kai, who she respected and adored, in order to observe any damage caused by the ice and to arrange for its restoration.

Afterwards, when he'd had time to process all that had happened in his absence, Elsa would speak privately with Kristoff. It was he to whom she owed the greatest diligence, for she had wronged him directly in her state of despair that night on the mountain. Anna could tell that he didn't want it, that he could wish nothing more than to return to his life in the mountains with Sven—his quiet, uncomplicated life. But she also knew that he understood her sister, her story, and did not wish for her to suffer on his account. He wanted to put the whole affair behind him, and after all, who in their right mind could blame him?

But this would all become apparent much, much later. At this moment, Anna ducked her head and smeared a few wayward tears across her face with the heel of her hand.

Kristoff looked at her uneasily. "Anna?"

"What?"

"Are you all right?"

She rubbed her nose and produced a moist, sniffling sound. "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well ..." he began, clearly uncomfortable. "It looks like, maybe, you're crying."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not."

He hesitated, and then said "OK."

Gerda entered the room, then. She gave a shrill cry of joy and clasped her hands to her bosom. This display was followed by an abrupt change in countenance and a businesslike palm to Kristoff's forehead. Anna smirked: he was on her turf, now.

It would become clear, in the next few days, that Kristoff's temperature would always run slightly cold from this point onward—and, in fact, for the rest of his life. This was of course baffling and peculiar, and required something of an adjustment for a man who harvested ice for a living. But in the end, it would prove little more than an annoyance, and Kristoff learned to cope by layering his clothes more thoroughly than he had been in the habit of doing before.

It was something of a shock to Gerda, however, who insisted on calling for the physician and procuring hot liquids at once. She bustled about the room and tidied it up, as she had come to do, and then departed with a troubled frown, leaving Anna fiddling with the yarn in her lap and Kristoff staring at the plaster above him. The princess glanced at him sideways; he appeared to be plotting his escape.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Fine," he murmured. "Tired."

She nodded sympathetically, and they fell silent.

"I was worried about you," she said at last. "That's why I might have been crying—only just a little—if you want to know."

His eyes slid down from the ceiling and regarded her with a careful expression.

"Thank you," he said quietly. She waved the sentiment away with a dismissive hand, and then gave a mighty snuffle.

"Oh," she said, her tone both breezy and tearful. "It was nothing."

Kristoff grinned wryly. "Sure, it wasn't."

"I _mean_," she amended. "Marshmallow did most of the work."

"Mm-hmm."

Anna sighed. "Poor thing. I think he's lonely up there."

"You should marry him."

This caught her attention. "Shut up," she retorted. "Seriously, can't you just _let_ it _go_?"

He waited for a moment.

"No."

Anna was both legitimately annoyed and genuinely pleased by his tendency to provoke her in this way. She was annoyed because it was made abundantly clear, in the end, how right Kristoff had been for mocking her engagement to Hans. But at the same time, she could not quite comprehend the small, stealthy feeling of warmth and happiness that overcame her when he did so. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was finally behaving more like the Kristoff she knew.

A part of her, though, recognized that it was more than that.

Elsa, who had been observing her sister thoughtfully since their reunion, was the first of all people to notice Anna's befuddlement. It came about, in fact, when the two were discussing what to do with Hans.

"Send him back to his brothers," she'd mused that morning over tea. "Let _them_ handle the fool.'

But Anna was less merciful. "He was going to have you _executed_, Elsa, without even giving you a proper chance to defend yourself." She curled her hand into a fist and brought it down on the table between them as though it could be a substitute for his face. "And he also sort of tried to kill Kristoff."

Elsa shook her head. "I wouldn't have taken it," she remarked.

"What?"

"That chance."

Anna fell silent. Then she sighed. "I guess I didn't know him all that well, after all," she said morosely.

Her sister smiled. "You _couldn't_ know, Anna. It's not like you've had much experience with … people."

They both gazed out over the breakwater. Sails luffed noisily in the distance, and the smell of sea salt was strong in the gathering heat. Aside from a few drifts of rotting snow that lingered in the more shaded parts of the city, all signs of Elsa's terrible ice storm had evaporated. Instead, a light wind carried with it the unusual combination of summer's warmth and winter's purity.

"Maybe I'm just a miserable judge of character."

Elsa shaded her eyes from the sun and peered at her. "I don't think that's true, Anna. Yours is a generous heart, of course, but that doesn't mean you don't recognize genuine friendship when it really matters."

"I don't have any friends."

"What about Kristoff?"

"I hardly know him."

Elsa laughed. "You say that _now_?" she teased, reminding her sister of the mountain man himself, which she was in no mood to tolerate. "I think you're confused. Tell me this: what's Kristoff's last name?"

Anna crossed her arms and slouched in her chair. "Bjorgman," she said sullenly.

"What's his favorite food?"

"Carrots."

"Best friend's name?"

"Sven."

"Eye color?"

Anna glared.

"I'm just saying," continued Elsa, "that maybe you're not as hopeless as you think you are. Prince Hans has a gift for manipulating others, I'll give him that much. He knew what he was doing, Anna, and you were not the only victim to his charms."

Now it occurred to Anna, as she twisted her lengths of thread, that she would have to confess to her friend that the prince had deceived her … and that she was no longer attached to him in any way.

She studied Kristoff as best she could without actually _appearing_ to do so. His color was better, and he seemed to have recovered some of his prickly humor. But she also had the distinct and inexplicable impression that telling him about the demise of her engagement, right now, would confound him. And because his eyes were tired and because he was beginning to show signs of fatigue, she decided that this could wait.

Instead, she held up the two pieces of yarn for him to see.

"Look!" she said proudly.

In her fingers was a perfect, precisely looped butterfly knot in miniature. The wool was soft and slightly scratchy against her skin, and it had been dyed a sweet, smooth yellow—like the long light of a summer afternoon.

Kristoff, who'd been looking as though he might drift back to sleep, blinked and roused himself. "Hey!" he said brightly. "You did it!"

Anna smiled. "You remember?"

He looked at her strangely. "Sure," he replied, as though this was obvious. She felt her cheeks flush.

"Well," she said, somewhat defensively, "you could have hit your head. Or, I don't know, had it frozen out of you."

"_Frozen_ out of me?"

"Uh-huh."

Kristoff took a deep breath and dropped his head back onto the pillow. "I wouldn't forget you, Anna," he said quietly. "Not ever."

These words were like the warmth she'd felt in her fingertips that night she'd reached for his heart to save him: fierce and radiant and clear. It reminded her of the love she felt for her sister, but it was also different. Newer, less familiar, but no less keen. It was a fledgling sensation, as rough around the edges as Kristoff and as clumsy and inexperienced as Anna herself. She found that she did not want to assail it with her usual enthusiasm, but neither did she want it to go away.

Maybe, just maybe, she could wait and see what happened.

For now, she was content to put her slippered toes up on the edge of the bed and let her friend fall back to sleep. She listened to the fluid sounds of the harbor, the free movement of seawater against the city's embankment, and the voices of its people going about their business. She gazed at the hypnotic migration of dust motes in an errant ray of light, let her skin absorb the pleasant heat of a late summer day. And to pass the time, she abandoned her needlepoint in favor of knotting her thread into shapes of unforeseen elegance, each of them as intricate, as steadfast, and as varied as an icebound snowflake—or as love, itself.

* * *

**Thank you, thank you for reading!**


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